


I Like Me Better

by heracles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Attempt at Humor, Crossing Timelines, Facebook, Fluff, Gilly weed as weed, Harry Potter is Not the Boy-Who-Lived, M/M, Mild Language, Out of Character, Recreational Drug Use, Snapchat, Social Media, The Potters Live, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort, Twitter, YouTube, i didn't know how to segue that in properly but there you go, i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-02-13 15:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heracles/pseuds/heracles
Summary: “I bet that's not all you think his face is,” said Hermione, a smile twitching at her mouth, while maintaining the air of someone reading intently.Harry's arms dropped to his sides. “Wait, what.”“Oh, honestly,” Hermione sighed, deigning to lift her head in order to give him a look. Harry had no idea what it meant.Ron chewed slowly, looking between the two of them, before offering up his own input, “I think she's meant that Riddle is fit, mate.”“What,” said Harry again. “No, he's not.”A Modern Era Hogwarts fic in which Harry isnotobsessed with Tom Riddle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just an idea that i thought of suddenly and had to do. idk if it's been done with this pairing (if so i'd love recs) but i love social media being incorporated into fic.
> 
> this was meant to be a short one-shot but it sort of grew...
> 
> unbeta-ed, so constructive criticism welcome.

Tom Riddle was the type of bloke you either hated or loved. He was a prefect, stellar student, and proficient at duelling. He had perfect hair, perfect teeth, and always had a perfect word or two up his sleeve. 

Harry hated perfection. 

He could admit he was far from a scholar. He submitted his potions a couple of steps away from disaster, his essays were commonly filled with blotchy ink stains he was too lazy to remove, and a round of Quidditch and a laugh with his mates was a productive day. 

His hands always smelled like treacle tart and broom polish and his hair never laid flat. Ever. His robes hung loose for comfort but his trainers were always clean. There was not much he cared about appearance wise and he was fine with that. 

He was the chaotic, never on time, Quidditch-robe-for-a-blanket, complete _opposite_ to clean, pristine Riddle.

Riddle, with his polished look: neatly pressed tie in uniform and perfectly buttoned shirt outside of it. 

Riddle, who Harry didn't even care about enough to hate; until, suddenly, he was everywhere. 

Riddle was perfect and Harry hated perfection and yet, there was something hidden under that veneer of charm that got to him. 

He was the bloke you either loved or hated; or so Harry had always claimed. 

* * *

“Wait,” said Harry far too loudly for being seven in the morning. 

“‘m not doing anything,” mumbled Ron, his head propped up on his hand. Even still, his other hand stopped unsurely before his mouth, porridge dripping onto the table. 

“Mm,” said Hermione - or, honestly, she hadn't said anything, her face too busy trying to meld into the book in front of her. 

Harry narrowed his eyes and snapped his fingers in front of her face. She jumped back, startled. 

“Really, Harry,” Hermione glared as she smoothed down the pages that had become rumpled in her alarmed grip. 

“That's for responding to me like you're my mum,” said Harry, a grin twitching at his mouth. 

“To be fair,” Ron offered, his words stuttering around a jaw cracking yawn. “To be fair, she always acts like a mum.” 

“I do not,” said Hermione, frowning indignantly. 

Harry shrugged. “You do, basically. Gross of you to say that, though, Ron. Unless you're into that.” He paused, face scrunched up as he thought about that, which- “Yeah, no, never mind. I officially need to be obliviated, right now immediately.”

No such help would be handed to him, unfortunately, and so he mourned the fact that he might have to live with the thought of his best friend having a mummy kink. Which would be funny out of context, not because he was a kink shamer _(he has totally had sex. maybe. sort of. okay, he really had to know, did hand stuff count?)_ but because it sounded like an odd fetish for getting buried with all your worldly possessions while covered in bandages. And doing sex. Stuff. 

But, no. Harry shook his head, trying to get back on track. 

“As I was saying,” said Harry, casually breezing past Ron's confused face and Hermione’s blushing face. Huh. Harry paused. Maybe it was _Hermione_ \- No. 

“As I was _saying_ ,” he said more firmly, a stern look directed to his thoughts. 

“We're listening,” said his two friends simultaneously. And now they were bored. Well, they wouldn't be bored when he showed them-

 **harry**  
@hazzapot

_prof d: stop tryna make sherbert lemon hapn. its  
not gonna hapen_

“You've misspelt ‘happen’ differently twice,” said Hermione after squinting at his phone a bit. “I don't know why, you've managed to fall quite far under the character count.” 

“Whatever,” said Harry dismissively. “That's not the important part. _Someone,_ ” he said this part very specifically, “has retweeted it. And liked it, which says something. I mean, I know I'm funny and topical, but still.” 

“I wish you would change your twitter handle,” mused Hermione, managing to sound both forlorn and resigned. And clearly not listening. Typical. 

“It's a nickname-” 

“ _No one_ calls you that, Harry,” said Hermione exasperatedly. “It's ridiculous.” 

“It's _twitter_ ,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Everything is ridiculous.” 

“Maybe in your sphere,” Hermione shot back. “But for me it's meant for contributions to online discourse-” 

“We're getting off track,” Harry interrupted her before she could go full on into a rant on the political climate or whatever. 

He wasn't stupid, but honestly he generally tended to retweet memes and any political discussions extended as far as making fun of Fudge and Trump tweets. 

“Ron,” he said, quickly trying to get the boy's attention before Hermione’s hair grew in her agitation. “You recognise this bloke, right?” 

Ron's face scrunched up in confusion. “Who's Tom Arvolo?” 

“Tom _Mar_ volo,” Harry corrected, taking back his phone and _definitely_ not to stalk his profile again. “‘Tomarvolo’ is just easier on the eye than ‘tommarvolo’.”

“I don't even know what you just said,” said Ron bluntly, pointing a buttered roll in accusation. “And I still don't know who that is, mate.” 

Harry couldn't help it; he gaped a bit, it honestly hurt with how far his mouth hung open. “How can you not know Tom Riddle? He's only the biggest prat at Hogwarts. We've been over this.”

“He is also one of the top students of our year,” said Hermione, turning a page and then, as though to herself, “To my eternal dismay.” 

“Ohhh,” said Ron, seeming to come to a realisation. “That Tom? The one whose diary you stole that one time?”

“Shh!” said Harry, eyes checking for anyone listening in. The only one to meet his eye was that odd Creevey kid, who smiled at him widely. He hastily looked away. “I didn't steal it. Merlin. I found it.” 

“Oh yeah,” Ron snorted, a gleeful look in his eyes. “Where was it that you found it, Harry?” He tapped his chin, pretending to think even as the sides of his mouth kept twitching. 

“Shut up,” said Harry dully. 

“Now I remember!” Ron crowed, ignoring Harry once again. Why did he only have two friends again? “The girls bathroom, wasn't it?” 

Ron, honest to Merlin, cackled, reminiscent of fifth year when he had heard the story the first time.

“It's really not that funny,” Harry deadpanned. 

“It's not,” Hermione agreed, her head once more buried in her book but at least seeming to pay attention to the conversation this time. 

“Thank you!” said Harry, pointing to her and she pointed back with her highlighter quill thingy, eyes still on her book. How did she… Nevermind.

“No,” Ron said, wiping his eyes. “That's not even the funniest part. The bit where you thought Riddle actually offed someone is.” 

“Myrtle was missing for like, a year-” 

“-It was two weeks,” Hermione inserted absently. 

“Which is long enough to be suspicious of Riddle’s stupid, smug face,” Harry maintained, crossing his arms stubbornly. 

“I bet that's not all you think his face is,” said Hermione, a smile twitching at her mouth, while maintaining the air of someone reading intently. 

Harry's arms dropped to his sides. “Wait, what.” 

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione sighed, deigning to lift her head in order to give him a look. Harry had no idea what it meant. 

Ron chewed slowly, looking between the two of them, before offering up his own input, “I think she's meant that Riddle is fit, mate.” 

“What,” said Harry again. “No, he's not.” 

Ron and Hermione spoke at the same time. 

“He definitely is.” 

“Don't even pretend.” 

Ron barrelled on, as the three of them got to their feet. He pulled his rucksack over his shoulder and Harry did the same hastily. “Birds talk, mate. One thing is for sure: Tom Riddle is the fittest bloke in our year. And that's only cos Diggory’s left.” 

“Oh, since when have you had a chat with girls outside of Hermione?” Harry shot back, self-consciously flattening his hair. 

Ok, so, when Harry thought about it, Riddle was handsome (anyone with eyes could see that) but he was an arse. And Harry objected to calling arses fit. Not physical arses, obviously, many people had glorious ones. That didn't make the arse in their personality automatically attractive either. 

“Well, I overheard it in the Common Room,” said Ron. 

“I'm good-looking, aren't I? Hermione?” 

Hermione hummed absentmindedly but responded before he could do anything drastic. “Both you and Ron and are very handsome.” 

She patted them on their heads and a quick kiss to Ron's cheek before speedily walking away. 

Ron and Harry stopped in the busy hallway to stare after her. 

“Was that sarcastic?” Ron wondered. 

Harry sighed. “Condescending, mate. The word is condescending.” 

Still the question lingered: why did he retweet an obscure tweet about Dumbledore that Harry had posted? He didn't even know Riddle followed him.

Actually, no. A quick check confirmed that ‘tomarvolo’ did not in fact follow him. Rude. 

And _why_ , Harry thought in annoyance, did his stupid caption of ‘LMFAOO’ get like a bazillion more retweets? Was it just because he was supposedly ‘fit’? 

Harry was fit, too. Sort of. Cho had certainly thought so. 

Well, she had cried when he tried to snog her. So. There was that.

Harry sighed and moved on to his first lesson. The magical wifi line somehow magically did not reach the classrooms - Harry blamed Snape - so he wouldn't be able to check Riddle’s profile again. 

Not that he wanted to. 

* * *

Harry grinned at the camera, the darkened spots on his bronze cheeks displaying his exertion. He held his selfie-stick (which had been shrunk in his pocket so he could fly unhindered) at the right angle to catch both his face and the grounds below. 

“Hey, guys. Harry here,” he started to wave and then, feeling it was cringey, changed it to ruffling his hair. “This is the third video in my quidditch series and I'll be showing you guys a Wronski Feint. That was the most requested move on last week's entry - thanks for the great response by the way,” Harry did a tiny loop on his broom in happiness. “Anyway, I've only done this move once before, so wish me luck!” 

With a daring grin and wink at his camera, he positioned his stick parallel to his broom and angled downwards. His grip faltered slightly on the plastic but he righted it before his precious phone could plummet to the ground. 

He gave another grin to the camera, this time self-deprecating, “Oops.” 

Before the laughing emojis could stream in, he readied himself for a straight shoot down. 

Wind tugged at his robes and the chill bit at the skin of his face and hands. His loud “Whoo!” escaped his mouth before he could stop it, echoing across the pitch and across to his viewers. 

It was exhilarating, the sheer drop pumping adrenalin through his body that left him with a dizzying headrush. The ground was coming up fast, and, with a quick glance to camera, he pulled up with seconds to spare. 

The tips of his trainers just brushed the grass but he still did a cursory check to make sure the crisp white hadn't been scuffed. They hadn't been - phew, they were new after all. 

“So I realise now that that probably wasn't the best demonstration of the Wronski Feint,” he told his audience, ruffling his hair with a sheepish smile. “A panoramic view would probably have been better rather than just the image of my face.” 

He turned his hand and did a slow viewing around the grounds for those watching. “But,” he said, holding up a finger to the phone, “I'll rope Ron into recording it for me next time. For now, just soak in the close up view of what the move looks like.” 

He laughed (mostly for the fact that the moment in the video felt like it called for it) and said, “Let's see what questions you have for me now, yeah?” 

With that, he removed his phone from the stick and straddled his broom with his thighs so that he could scroll through the questions that had started coming through on the feed. 

“Oh, here's a good one,” he stopped to read aloud. “‘Quidditchfan2’ asks: you seem such a natural on a broom but did it take you long to get good?” 

Harry paused to think a bit. “Uhmm, actually no. I've been flying for as long as I can remember so that's always been easy to me. And I guess, since I fly so much and I'm honestly always practicing, new moves aren't that hard for me to pick up.” 

He shrugged, hoping that was enough. 

“Okaay next is… ‘seekerbae’ asks: Is that what your face looks like when you're having se- uhm,” he could feel his neck and face burning and quickly diverted to the next question. “‘Voldemort’ asks: quidditch is a worthless pursuit and you honestly look idiotic.” 

Harry laughed, feeling his previous awkwardness evaporate in his amusement. He has gotten rude comments like that before but he preferred to see the funniness rather than get offended like Ron probably would have. 

“Right, so, that one wasn't a question but anyway. First of all,” he said, laughter trailing off. “This is a Quidditch channel so… I don't know what you're even doing here. Secondly, even though Quidditch is supposedly ‘worthless’, you still took the time to comment? No life, much?

“Okay, so!” he leapt off his broom and landed on the ground with nimble feet. “That's all the questions for now. In the meanwhile, comment, subscribe, and give a thumbs up down below,” reaching his bag against the nearest stand and withdrew a water bottle, “Stay hydrated while flying and I'll see you guys next time. Expelliarmus!” 

With his trademarked greeting (it wasn't really trademarked but it was his thing) he pointed at the screen as though with a wand and the livestream went blank. It was clever because it seemed like he snatched the video away with a simple ‘Expelliarmus’. 

Well, Harry and Ron thought it was clever. Hermione said it didn't make sense. Whatever, she didn't know. It was gonna be big (but it was his _thing_ so no one else should use it). 

He had started his youtube channel a couple of weeks ago and had so far amassed a couple of hundred subscribers. Only about half actually viewed his live videos and a handful of those ever really participated in the comment section. 

Still, though, he had haters trolling his page so he figured he was successful enough. 

Under his profile he had three new subscribers and twenty likes on his newest video. For the hundred viewers that watched it, it wasn't bad. 

Certainly more successful than his twitter. He should probably post links to it on his youtube.

With a smile, he headed for the showers. 

* * *

**Hogwarts Confessions**  
Today at 10:33

#HogwartsConfessions7890

Does anyone remember last year when a second year Ravenclaw went missing? She came back all loopy and not knowing anything.

Well, we all know she was obliviated but I also know who was responsible. I won't be naming names bc I'm not here to snitch. Just letting T know: I'm into you.  
\- H

Submitted: 08 November, 2017 11:17:42 PM GMT 

“Shit,” said Harry, staring at his now posted confession. He had meant to say “I'm onto you” all ominously but it had autocorrected to “into”. He looked thirsty as hell. 

He groaned as he saw the first comment come in. 

**Daphne Greengrass**  
ooh kinky! i like it 

“Fuck.”

* * *

Later on, while they were hanging around the common room, Ron FaceTimed him. Harry glanced up at him, he was laying on the futon about three armchairs away with a carefully blank face. 

Harry shrugged and answered it. His friend’s freckled nose took up about half the screen before he moved it further way. 

His large mouth opened and a full on roar of laughter erupted from it, complete with lolling tongue. It was the type of laughter one only gave when they were laughing at their best friends doing something embarrassing.

“What the fuck!” Harry's ears felt like they were dying as he ripped his earphones out by the jack.

“I can hear you from across the room, you prat,” said Harry, glaring at him. 

Ron shrugged, shoulders still shaking. “Tee,” he hiccupped, forcing the word out through his chuckling. 

Harry frowned. “What are you on about?” 

Ron sighed, the deep seated kind of satisfaction after a good laugh. “T, your new bae.” 

“Oh, for the love of-” he stopped to pull his glasses off, feeling a headache coming on. “It was autocorrect! You know what, I really should stop dictating to Siri. Hey Siri, why do you hate me?” 

As expected, the smooth tone of Siri didn't come through while during a call. Harry sighed. He wondered if he could commission one of those technomage nerds to design a spell for that. 

“Oh, man,” Ron chortled. “You dictated again? Remember that time when-” 

“No.” Harry was disappointed that lasers refused to shoot from his eyes. Merlin, he'd take a tarantallegra if he could. 

“Fine, fine. It was funny though. Not as funny as “Oh Tom, you're creepy but pls date me’.” 

“That was _not_ -”

“Whatever,” Ron waved his hand. “Come over and verse me in virtual chess.” 

“I can play just fine over here.” 

He reluctantly got to his feet, though, making sure that Rom saw his rolling eyes before closing the call. 

At least over there he could tickle Ron to distract him from his moves. He'd take what victories he could get. 

“Heyyy bestie,” Ron smirked as Harry plopped down beside him. 

“Don't call me that,” Harry grumbled. 

Ron just laughed again. And proceeded to kick his arse at chess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think :))


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the lovely comments and the kudos on last chapter! you guys are awesome. 
> 
> sorry its a bit short but i hope you enjoy this next chapter :)

It was some consolation that all submissions on the Hogwarts Confession page were anonymous. Not much, mind you, since his friends knew and he knew but. No one else did. Which mattered. 

So it was a bit of surprise when Ginny, the little traitor, commented on the post: ‘@harry potter is this you? (laughing emoji)’

And by surprise he means he literally fell off his chair when the notification came through. 

Several people within the library turned to look at him and he waved his phone at them. “Dropped this haha.”

They turned away, uninterested again and he quickly typed out a text to Ginny.

**Harry:** whut no.

**Ginny:** lmao yea right

**Ginny:** i saw the diary in ur bag that one time

**Harry:** wtf why were u looking in my bag

**Ginny:** i needed a quill

**Harry:** excuse u!!!

**Ginny:** whatever. why do u still have it

**Harry:** providence ofc

**Harry:** *evidence

**Ginny:** its been a year. why r u so obsessed 

**Ginny:** why do u even care

**Harry:** omg i don't

**Harry:** i just think its interesting that no one tried to find the culprit of the myrtle case

**Ginny:** merlin! ‘culprit’ ‘myrtle case’?? stop playing at auror harry its weird

**Harry:** its. ot weird

**Harry:** *not. also im not playing auror wtf. ive not done anything

**Ginny:** lol. if you say so.

**Harry:** also!! why tf did u tag me on fb.

**Ginny:** byeeee

**Harry:** ginny u bitch

**Harry:** !!!!!

**Harry:** ...i hate u.

Grumbling under his breath, he flipped through his textbook, trying to pick up where he left off. Once he found it, he read for a while, getting a feel for the content while underlining the important bits.

He started making a rough draft of an essay on offensive spells and it was a bit boring after that.

_ "The  _ Duro  _ jinx allows the caster to-” _

His phone buzzed loudly on the table but he valiantly ignored it, forcing his brain to stay on topic.

_ “- their opponent to stone. It is different from  _ Petrificus Totalus  _ in that-” _

It buzzed again, making Harry grit his teeth. He picked up his quill- bzzt, bzzt.

“Oh, what,” Harry muttered, sliding open his screen.

**Ginny:** oooh i get it now lololol im so dumb

**Ginny:** i mean i don't get it. hes hot yea

**Ginny:** but defs weird. still fit tho

**Ginny:** i guess u have a type? what should we call it…. moody hotties? or smth idk

**Harry:** ginny what on earth are u talking abt

**Ginny:** tom and cho duh. they're both v pretty but also… they can both be a bit of an arsey bastard u know.

**Ginny:** no offense tho

**Harry:** and why should i be offended?

**Ginny:** ah. its one of those. in that case

**Ginny:** byyyeeee

**Harry:** can u stop??

**Harry:** ur the worst

Harry angrily stuffed his phone into his pocket and did the same with his books into his bag. He hadn't even got to finish any of his assignments.

He had wanted to be a good student for once and actually get a headstart on maybe studying for exams. But now he clearly couldn't concentrate.

Hermione would probably kill him (he had promised he would try) but he just felt like curling up in his bed and binge watching Stranger Things.

The kids in that show reminded Harry of him and friends when they were younger. Before they turned into arseholes, of course.

Laughter came from around the corner of the hallway, and Harry stopped. It was a rather nice laugh, smooth and charming - if a bit too charming. It would have been nicer if it didn't sound so fake.

“Are you actually serious?” a male voice asked incredulously. It didn't sound like the one who had laughed.

“Am I ever entirely unserious?” answered another. His voice was deep and pleasant enough to match the laughter - although it sounded a bit annoyed just then. “And I honestly can't believe you're questioning me right now.”

And didn't that sound ominous? Harry frowned and took the moment to peer over the corner curiously. In a subtle way, of course. He could only hope his gravity defying hair didn't draw their attention.

Two dark haired boys stood there, both with a green prefect badges attached to their casual robes. Ah, Slytherins. That would explain it then.

The shorter of the two laughed. Harry couldn't help but notice how reedy the sound was - definitely not as attractive as his mate’s.

“I don't know what to tell you, Tom.”

Harry started at the name; the same time that the taller one looked up from his phone. When he saw his face he wondered how he could have missed the fact that it was  _ Riddle - his,  _ no not his, _ the  _ Tom Riddle.

It was actually rather hard to miss. Not many had his distinctive hairstyle - the parted to the side look that made him seem like he came from a completely different era.

Riddle gave the other boy - and what was his name, Harry wondered - a withering look. “Don't address me so familiarly,” he said scathingly but the other boy just laughed, making Riddle narrow his eyes further.

“Oh, right,  _ Tom  _ is so  _ plain _ ,” he said in a tone that suggested a mocking of a frequent comment from Riddle.

“It is,” Riddle insisted. Although by now he had lost his intense annoyance and he simply looked resignedly disgruntled.

It was fascinating to see his lower lip jut out in such a manner. Very weird on Riddle but so  _ fascinating.  _ Yeah, he was going with that word.

“So what,” said his friend. “My name is John, plainest name in the book. You don't see me complaining.”

Harry privately agreed. His own name was a nickname - and so what if he tried to give it a nickname of its own, loads of Harry's went by Haz, it was _legit._

“I personally couldn't care less what you complain about.”

“Whatever. I'll just call you ‘My Lord’, then, shall I?"

Harry stifled his snort in the palm of his hand but Riddle didn't find it as amusing.

“Shut up, Avery,” said Tom, rolling his eyes skyward. “Will you do it or not? Because I could always ask Zabini. He'd surely be more competent. He knows when to shut up as well-”

“Oh, as if you don't love the sound of your own voice,” said Avery and Riddle gave a grin, all sharp yet annoyingly flawless teeth.

“It is rather pleasant though, isn't it? I should look into podcasting,” said Tom. Harry rolled his eyes. Tom's voice wasn't  _ that _ great; he’d probably fall asleep listening to him talk on end. “But enough about me, your confidence might take a hit. And you need to do the thing…”

Avery sighed. “I'll try, ok? It just may take some time.” Then, grumbling a bit under his breath, “Although I don't know why you can't do it. Seeing as you're so good at everything.”

“That's all I ask,” said Tom, his tone suddenly turning faux pleasant again. “And I am perfectly capable of doing anything, make no mistake. But that's why I have minions, you see.”

Avery smirked. “Keep telling yourself that,  _ mate.”   _

Riddle simply side glanced at him, unphased. “I will. I make it a point never to lie,” he lips curved in a smirk of their own. “To myself, that is.”

They started to walk away then, sharing a strange Slytherin laugh. Harry sagged against the wall, unaware until then that he'd been tense the entire time.

He realised that his eavesdropping had also been useless. He didn't really know what they had been talking about but it was probably some everyday green tie blackmail. Slytherins seemed all mysterious but when it came down to it, they were boring.

Then again, he wouldn't put it passed them to speak purposely vague, even when they were seemingly alone. Harry had learnt Morse code a few years back for that purpose. Sadly, that knowledge had never been used.

“Now about these Quidditch videos I saw you watching-”

“It was one time. It was on my feed and I was, frankly, bored. It atleast put me in the mind to take a power nap.”

“Right. Then why...” 

After that they were too far away for Harry to make out their words. When they were out of sight, Harry continued his way to the tower.

Riddle watching Quidditch? Harry shook his head to himself - he just couldn't see it.

It was as he reached the staircase leading to the seventh floor that he realised what Ginny was blabbering (could you blabber in a text?) on about. She thought he fancied Riddle.

And not just her, Ron and Hermione too.

He stopped. It wasn't the first time they had teased each other about ‘crushes’. It was just one of those things they did: point out that strange bloke with his socks pulled on over his trousers and say ‘hey look its your boyfriend’.

Although that one time it had turned out that said bloke had been Neville and they had nearly laughed themselves sick. When it doubly turned out that Neville was proper blazed and had put on Seamus’ two day old socks they had ended up with stitches in their sides.

It was all just having a laugh, though. It never went full on for a whole day. 

And he couldn't fancy Riddle. He didn't know him, just knew he looked like a bit of a bastard. Sounded like it, as well.

He did fancy Cho, but that was before it turned sideways. And she wasn't ‘arsey’ at all, what a horrible thing to say.

And ok, he should have realised she wasn't in the best place after the Cedric debacle, so that was mostly his fault.

That didn't mean he had a type. Because Cho wasn't an arse and he  _ didn't _ fancy Riddle.

(Not to mention that Riddle wasn't  _ that _ pretty. That was definitely too soft a term for his sharp cheekbones, brooding eyebrows, and smooth deep voice. But he wasn't mentioning that. Because he didn't have a type.) 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this is short too BUT I have part of the next chapter written and it should be up within a week or two. that being said, university started up this week so expect more sporadic updates :(
> 
> thank you to everyone who has supported this story through kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks, and comments (i won't lie, they're my favourite ;))
> 
> hope you enjoy further!

Harry slept through most of his Stranger Things marathon. He was a bit disheartened to find himself face first in a bit of drool and his laptop dwindling at eleven percent battery life.

His sleeping self had gone through about ten queued episodes and already straight in the second season. How ungrateful.

None of his idiot roommates had turned on any of the lights so he was in complete darkness save for his semi-lit laptop.

It had already gone past midnight - he hadn't even realised he had been tired - but that didn't mean anything because it was a Saturday so the others should still be up being idiots.

He tugged on a sweatshirt and made his way down the spiral staircase, and was immediately bombarded by the sounds of students making a complete ruckus down below.

When he glanced out at the common area he couldn't see any of his friends among the mostly sixth- and seventh-years.

He figured they were probably in one of the smaller rooms off the side of the main common room and made his way over to their frequently used one. He deftly ignored anyone calling out to him.

Harry wasn't popular by any means but it was somewhat difficult to remain far removed from his peers when they spent so much time together. It was a side effect of being in the same house that you'd get to know most everyone. He just wasn't in the mood to chat with acquaintances.

“So this is where you heathens are shacking up,” said Harry upon finding his friends hanging out in the small but cozy room.

“Harry,” Neville greeted him with a slow and lazy smile. The sentiment was echoed by some of the others, in various states of awareness.

Someone had cast a deodorizing charm but it wasn't hard to deduce what they were up to - the windows were open but faint smoke lingered in the wake of a hot boxed room.

“Aw, what the fuck,” Harry complained, pouting slightly.

He snatched one of the hoses out of Dean's limp hand and took a pull of the shisha. Barely any smoke came out and it felt airy; he could taste the faint but acrid flavour of gillyweed but it was already dead.

“You were sleeping, mate,” Ron offered from where he was sprawled across an overstuffed red bean bag chair. 

“You could've woken me,” Harry groaned, throwing himself onto the sofa next to Seamus, who sat up suddenly and pulled a bag closer to him.

“Here, I'll make another,” he said, hair wild and eyes wide. “I got you.”

“Nah, allow it,” said Harry, waving him off. “You lads are fucking waste.”

“It's chill, fam,” said Seamus, cleaning out the clay head of the shisha with a surprisingly efficient evanesco. “I need another anyway.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “How long have you been out here?”

“‘Bout three hours or so,” said Dean, squinting at him as though his face were a clock. “Hermione was watching some dickhead on YouTube doing some tutorial on potions or some shit. Man was dull as fuck,” he shrugged, “After she got annoyed at us laughing at his pompous face, she left and Nev brought out the stash.”

“S’true,” said Neville.

“Hey!” said Ron, head out of view but hand trying to wave in their general direction. He was way off. “That's Harry's boyfriend you're talking about. And my girlfriend,” he muttered the last bit to himself.

Harry threw a pillow at him and it him in the face, realising then which ‘dickhead’ they were referring to. “Riddle has a YouTube channel, then?”

“Yeah,” said Dean, looking over at him curiously. “A study help type of thing, from the looks of it.”

“Figures, the poncy dick,” said Harry, rolling his eyes.

Ron sat up suddenly, clutching the pillow Harry had chucked at him. “He is a poncy dick! You don't think she fancies him do you?”

Harry frowned. “Who?”

“‘Mione! And Riddle!”

“I thought Harry fancied him?” Neville mused, seeming to come out of a trance.

“What!” Harry looked for another pillow but, not finding one, took off one of his trainers instead. It hit Ron in the stomach but he just clutched at it, laughing. “Ron stop telling people that, you bastard. It's not funny anymore.”

“So you admit it was funny to begin with,” Ron pointed out and everyone else laughed.

“Oh, fuck off you lot,” said Harry tiredly, leaning his head on the back of the sofa with a sigh. Seamus patted his leg somewhat consolingly and Harry looked at him warningly to go back to finishing the shisha.

“She did say he was fit, though.”

“That was you, Ron,” said Harry.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, mate.” Ron smiled sheepishly.

“Just toss my shoe back, won't you?” Harry wiggled his socked toes. “My foot is cold now.”

“Not for long,” said Seamus as he passed him one hose, the coal was already lit and Harry just had to start it.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” said Harry gratefully.

And Seamus was right: soon after Harry felt warm all over. A haze passed over his mind and he felt this odd buzzing sensation, as though his whole body was vibrating. In a good way, though.

Feeling languid and a bit like one of those vibrating massager things (he had always been a lightweight when it came to gillyweed), he said to no one in particular, “Let's see it, then.”

“What was that?” said someone. It sounded like Ron but it also could have been Neville, who looked like he had fallen over behind the bean bag chair.

“Riddle’s channel,” Harry clarified, the words slow in his mouth. “I could use a laugh.”

“Aww,” said Seamus. “Tommy’s feelings might be hurt by that one.”

“Doubt he has them,” said Harry, but strangely he couldn't help but picture Riddle’s pink lip jutting out in a pout.

But then someone had put a video up and Riddle’s usually serious face filled the screen of the television. He was sat behind a workstation in one of the dungeons, a cauldron and other potions supplies already set up.

The other boys started cracking up at almost the first word Riddle said and it felt like the world had zoomed in on his face, like a light tunnel filter. That part was most amusing to Harry, a giddy bubble of laughter stemming from his throat.

Somehow Harry just zoned out staring at Riddle’s face while he got into his demonstration. The solemn furrow between his eyebrows as he diced ingredients and adjusted his flame on the burner.

Riddle had nice eyebrows. Although one of them was missing a few hairs close the end of the pointed part, as though it had been cut at some point. That was a nice flaw, almost too perfectly positioned as one.

“Hey,” said Harry, coming to a realisation. “You know how Riddle has that look like he comes from the 1940s?” He paused for the others to murmur agreements. “Maybe he is.”

Seamus laughed and Harry said, “Right?” but Dean just shook his head and asked the ceiling, “What…?”

“You know, he's got the thing,” he pulled his hair down at to the side, “And the eyebrow thing. There was a war you know.”

“What eyebrow thing?” asked Ron. “‘Cos my eyebrows are kinda flat, you know? But I don't think that's what you meant.”

“It's not,” Harry agreed. “Also, his eyebrows are black, not red. Or are they just a really dark brown?”

For a while, Harry frowned at the screen, trying to figure out what colour Riddle’s eyebrows were. They were definitely the same colour as his hair, he was sure.

The lighting was bad in the dungeons, though - he knew this from snapchat experience. So, it was hard to tell, and none of the others were giving any helpful input.

“Do try to be careful with your flame,” Riddle was saying as he adjusted his own flame under the cauldron. “It shouldn't be too difficult to maintain an even temperature, unless you're frivolous with casting.”

“See,” said Harry, pointing to him. “Who says the word ‘frivolous’ so casually?”

“‘Mione,” said Ron.

“Shush about Hermione, Ron,” said Neville, once again suddenly. “I'm trying to listen to Harry's point,” then his voice paused again, “You do have one don't you, Harry?”

Harry was touched and he smiled at Neville’s foot in appreciation. “I do, Nev, thanks, mate.”

“Harry should shush about Riddle, maybe,” Ron grumbled. “I'm trying to stay high, here.”

“Or maybe you should all listen to the fact that Riddle is, in fact, a time traveller from 1943,” concluded Harry.

“What,” Seamus laughed, turning bleary eyes toward him. Harry joined in his laughter - it was ridiculous when he thought about it, but it made sense.

None of the others seemed to agree, though. Dean threw a piece of popcorn at him. Gross, there wasn't any other popcorn kernels in sight.

Harry turned back to the screen. Riddle gave a sudden smile and Harry jerked to awareness.

“Ah, no, it's not meant to do that,” Riddle was saying as he indicated to the bright blue potion. It seemed alright to Harry. “Luckily, there's a way to fix this. Remember, there are always ways to counteract mistakes while brewing. You just need to know how ingredients affect each other. And don't mess up too monumentally.”

Riddle’s dark eyes seemingly looked straight at Harry and, honestly, he felt attacked. But also intrigued - how did one go about understanding how ingredients affect each other, he wondered. It seemed mostly useless, but also important (was Riddle hypnotising him?).

It was strange that Riddle hadn't edited out the fact that he had made a mistake; the notion at odds with perfect Tom Riddle - the image he usually portrayed.

Riddle was trying to lure Harry in with the idea that he was human. Well, bully for him because Harry was onto (not into, definitely not) him and his time traveller’s scheme.

He was still talking and just how much did one person have to say about a single potion. Then again, Riddle’s eyelashes looked like they knew more than Harry's whole body did. They seemed to go on forever...

Harry shook his head, trying to shake away the buzz surrounding it. He glared accusingly at the shisha, stupid gillyweed.

Just when Harry felt it was time to call it a night - maybe call Dobby for a snack - Hermione strolled in the room. She stopped, and stared at them for a moment.

“Honestly,” was what Hermione had to say, which was par for the course.

“I don't even know, ‘Mione,” said Harry somewhat plaintively. “Is anything honest anymore? Or is Riddle just an honest to Merlin time traveller sent to mess with me?”

Hermione just sighed. Harry sighed back, Ron leapt up to hug her, and Riddle said, “And that's how you do _that_.”

Although that last bit of emphasis might have been imagined on Harry's part. He was never quite sure after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked it, let me know in any way possible (even just a kudos). thanks! :)
> 
> also, to anyone following my other story, don't worry. i will be coming back to it soon-ish.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all: thank you guys so so much for getting this story to 200 kudos! it may not seem like much i appreciate every single kudos, comment, bookmark and subscription. seriously, you guys give me so much encouragement to continue :') 
> 
> secondly: this is later than i promised but it's also the longest chapter so far :) 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Harry was back to procrastinating the next day. He woke up late, gave a cursory glance at his books and thought,  _ nah _ . 

He would get to his assignments eventually. Just not right then. (It's what he told himself, anyway. He had tried a habit tracker app that one time but all the unmarked days where he hadn't ticked off a single thing had just made him depressed.)

He did change his sweater for a fresh one, though. Same old trash, just packaged differently. It was the little things that mattered, and Harry lived by that saying.

Down in the common room, it was quiet. Few people were actually doing things like studying or playing chess, but for the most part it was the embodiment of Lazy Sunday™. 

Usually Harry would be just fine with that atmosphere; after a full week of school, he was exhausted from doing  _ things. _

The common room was a cozy sort of place and the crackling fire warmed up the room further; but the windows weren't open and right then Harry needed some crisp clean air.

“Hey,” said Ron, barely looking up. He was inclined on the sofa, a battered old laptop rested comfortably on his lap. Hermione was likely holed up in the library as she was wont to do.

“Hey.” Harry stopped at his side, and Ron glanced up at him. “Up to anything today?”

“Nah, mate, I'm too knackered to move.”

“Ok, well, I'm off to grab some breakfast then I think I'll go for a walk. Or something. I dunno yet.”

“Uh, you sure? It's cold as fuck, right now, in case you didn't know.” Ron nodded to the misty grey sky outside. Harry followed his gesture but simply shrugged, hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I had noticed. I don't mind, though, this place is too stuffy.” He looked around at all the students in the room again. “Too many people.”

Ron pulled a face but then just shrugged slightly, going back to whatever was on his laptop. “Suit yourself, mate, just don't forget a jumper or something.”

Harry laughed. “I'm wearing one right now. But thanks, dad.”

“Piss off,” said Ron, lifting a middle finger absentmindedly.

Harry returned it in kind - even though Ron couldn't see it; it was the sentiment that counted.

The corridors were a bit chilly, despite the sconces in the walls. It seemed that they were only lit because of how dark it was outside and not to provide any warmth. Which was just stupid in Harry's humble opinion.

Nevertheless, he wasn't going to fetch another item of clothing; if only because he had his pride and he wasn't about to prove Ron right. Plus, the chill was nice after the claustrophobic warmth of the common room, so he left it as it was.

He didn't come across anyone during his trek to the kitchens either, which was also nice. People generally tended to assume he was an outgoing person because of his online presence on social media and how daring he was during Quidditch matches. But while he didn't shy away from socialising most times, he generally preferred his own company and that of close friends.

He was an only child after all, and although he had desperately wished for a sibling when he was younger he was used to being alone now. He was just fine with his parents and overbearing ‘uncles’ (and just when last did he FaceTime them? his mum was going to kill him when he finally got round to it).

After a quick bite of jam scones and coffee in the kitchens, he was off to explore the outside world. Dobby had been positively in tears to see him go but had eventually let go of the leg of his joggers once Harry had assured him he'd visit more often.

* * *

 

Once out in open air, Harry just took a moment to  _ breathe _ . The icy air felt good in his lungs and worked pretty well in shaking him from the slight fog of sleeping in.

He just took to walking, the deserted path leading towards the Quidditch pitch perfect to let his mind wander. He felt a bit regretful over the fact that he hadn't thought to bring his broom but felt content nonetheless.

At the edge of the pitch, Harry stopped at noticing someone on the other end. It was bit too far to discern anything noteworthy about them beyond that their pace suggested jogging. And in his direction, as well.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself he deliberated a bit before he decided it was in his best interest to hide himself in between two of the stands. He lifted one side of the canvas that covered one of the stands and stood behind it casually.

Believe him, he knew it was ridiculous. But he didn't want to risk the chance of a boggart  _ under  _ the stands and seating himself within the actual stands actually defeated the purpose of hiding.

When he took a moment to actually wonder why he was hiding, he couldn't come up with a concrete reason. He could only hope the slightly windy weather made the story of the hovering canvas somewhat believable.

It was as he glanced out of his ‘hiding’ place that Harry noticed the jogger was quite a bit closer than before. They had stopped to stretch and  _ that hair _ \- Harry knew that neatly parted hair anywhere. And just how did his hair manage to look so perfect after  _ exercising? _

It looked too absurdly soft to have hair product in it. Harry was envious in all honesty. How dare Riddle be amazing at everything. It was disgusting.

Also, how dare Riddle be everywhere Harry happened to be? Beyond disgusting, it was suspicious. Harry was a suspicious person by nature, especially when it came to Slytherins, but  _ seriously? _

When Riddle was done stretching out his unfairly long legs he started off again and Harry hastily hid himself behind the canvas again. Sensing that Riddle was near to passing close by him, he couldn't help peeking one more time.

He was almost at the other side of the pitch again and, wow, he was  _ fast.  _ Harry didn't even take him for the physically fit sort of bloke. Then again, he had to maintain that sort of lean muscle somehow. Not that it suddenly made him more appealing - even if Harry did find a kinship with generally active people; he wasn't denying that as a sports guy. (But he  _ didn't have a type. _ )

Watching him, the way Riddle moved was… amusing, Harry decided, grinning a bit to himself. There was nothing wrong with the way he ran - it was utterly perfect, as usual. Which was the problem. It seemed he was so concerned with looking flawless - and Harry had a thing or two to say about his decidedly straight posture.

Harry had to capture it somehow. Pulling out his phone, he quickly opened up Snapchat. He positioned it and himself with the front camera capturing both him and Riddle. Grinning, he added a filter - one of the cuter ones with animal ears and chubby cheeks.

Riddle was a bit far away so it took some manoeuvring to get the filter to fix on his face but when it did, Harry couldn't help but laugh. Riddle looked positively  _ adorable,  _ and that was  _ strange.  _ And - his face was becoming larger-

“Shit,” Harry swore, quickly adding the first emoji he saw with ‘haha wtf right’ as a caption before sending it off to his friend group. He panicked a bit once it sent before consoling himself with, ‘it's just a joke, they'll laugh, because Riddle looks hilarious’.

After that, he didn't have time to think much of anything because suddenly Riddle was  _ right there. _

“Hey,” said Harry casually, before sense kicked in and mortification rushed through him. He was still holding his phone and their faces were still on his screen because he was an idiot. The filter was mercifully off but, with the way his eyes had widened, it was hard to tell.

He had greeted Riddle, except it wasn't  Riddle, he was looking his camera-self and- Harry quickly turned around, facing the stoic face. For a moment Harry just stood there, crying on the inside, while Riddle observed him with unnerving intensity.

Up close, it was hard to equate this Riddle to the one Harry and his friends ‘knew’. The planes of his face were carved of marble in its stern lines, but down the line of his nose and along his cheekbones he had a smattering of fine brown freckles.

And his hair, immaculate as it was, lent a certain softness to his inscrutable countenance. Harry couldn't help but admire the way a slight curl, one he had never noticed before, curved just slightly above his imperfect eyebrow. The way his legs were just slightly more skinny than seen from afar, yet undeniably strong.

He was striking, but not for the obvious reasons; it was the tiny flaws that made Harry's breath catch.

Harry swallowed slightly.  _ It's purely aesthetic _ , he told himself firmly.

Neither said anything, until Harry could barely stand it anymore. “Hello,” Harry tried once more, the red and gold stands of Gryffindor surrounding them giving him courage. “You’re Riddle, right?” Nailed it.

Just for good measure, he placed his expression to that of someone viewing something highly disturbing. Sort of like the look his mum gave him when she entered his room back home.

Said Riddle’s brow lifted - and, yes, it did match his hair, which was dark brown - and then he spoke. For a moment, Harry thought he might just be called out but- “Yes, are you quite alright, Potter?” So he knew who he was… Interesting. Also, weird.

Harry would deny that his heart skipped a beat at his name, in that honeyed voice, so modulated and smooth.  _ Merlin. _

“Uh, yea, mate,” said Harry, giving him a puzzled look so as to distract himself from his thoughts. In fairness, it  _ was _ an odd thing to say to someone you've just met. Perhaps he hadn't managed his mum's look as well as he hoped he might have.

Riddle’s eyebrow, the flawless one, lifted to join the other. Harry couldn't blame him - he'd called Riddle his  _ mate.  _ And just then it actually truly hit him; this is the first time he'd actually spoken to him.

He hadn't known what he expected, but it wasn't for Riddle to grab his phone out of Harry's suddenly lax grip.  _ Grab _ might have been too strong a word; he took it so calmly and weirdly gently that Harry barely knew what was happening.

Harry stood blinking for a second, uncomprehending, before he realised. “Hey!”

Riddle glanced up at him before holding up the phone so Harry could see that Snapchat was still open. Harry wanted to die right then. How could he have been so careless? At least Riddle hadn't yet seen what he had sent off to his friends. Or had he?

Harry looked at Riddle’s face guiltily, expecting some sort of condemnation. The other boy simply looked puzzled, his nose scrunched. Maybe he couldn't comprehend the fact that Harry had been essentially stalking him?

“What's this?”

“Uh…” Harry hesitated, unsure. “Snapchat?”

“I've heard of it…” said Riddle, looking back at the screen. “Of course, I've never used it. But appears to be a camera application.”

Harry's mind halted. Riddle didn't know what Snapchat was. And that word,  _ application.  _ Harry's mouth twitched.

“Yeah, I guess it's a camera  _ app _ ,” said Harry, swallowing his laughter. Although, it was so much more than that. But he didn't expect Riddle to understand, when he went around using archaic words such as  _ application.  _

“I see,” said Riddle. “And what's this, might I ask?”

He turned the screen to Harry again. And there was the picture he had sent off to the group, in his saved images. Riddle’s face was tiny but unmistakable, filtered behind cute ears and whiskers as it was.

“Uhm,” said Harry, heart beating erratically. What the fuck should he say? “Uhhh… a selfie?”

“A selfie,” said Riddle flatly. Oh Merlin, Harry thought, don't tell me he doesn't know what that is either. But no, he had to, he had one put up on his Twitter profile, after all. Then again, how did he manage to go on social media and  _ not know what Snapchat was. _

“That you happen to be part of,” Harry clarified before promptly shutting his mouth. Riddle looked up at him again, expression indecipherable.

“It's cute,” said Riddle, without much inflection. Had Riddle just complimented him? If so, Harry was vaguely disappointed. Where was the charm?

“Uh. Thanks…?” Harry peered at him anxiously. When was he going to get his phone back?

Riddle’s waved the phone slightly (Harry tried to catch it, to no avail), his dark blue irises almost impossibly wide. “It's  _ cute. _ ”

The words weren't said in the way one might gushingly refer to crup puppies or kneazle kittens. The tone was more that of a short person insisting they were  _ vicious _ not  _ cute _ .

“Uh,” said Harry, before realising that he'd probably said that ten times too many. He tried again: “You… you seem distressed?” Not good, but better.

Honestly, he felt somewhat overwhelmed. When he thought about talking to Riddle for the first time ( _ not _ that it was something he was keen on), this had not crossed his mind. Whatever this was.

Riddle cleared his throat, straightening up as though suddenly realising what image he was giving.

“Excuse me,” he said, somewhat apologetically. Harry narrowed his eyes; was he about to witness Riddle’s faux charm come out to play?

It was not to be.

Riddle continued, “What's the purpose of it?”

Harry frowned, scratching the back his head, perplexed. “Of Snapchat?”

“Yes,” Riddle said, giving him a look which read: duh. Although, Harry would die of laughter if that word ever came out of Riddle’s mouth. The image he conjured was just too funny.

Then Harry thought of something else and attempted clarification. “Or of the filter?”

Now Riddle was the one who looked perplexed. Or, rather, that Harry had turned out to be a bit more obtuse than he had anticipated. “Yes, well, both.”

“It's fun,” Harry shrugged, and about the filters, added: “And cute.”

Riddle made a funny twitch at that. He was very touched about that fact, wasn't he? “We've established. The reasoning for it…?”

“Uh. That's it. Oh, also streaks ruin friendships. But that also falls under the ‘fun’ category. Less cute, though.”

“Interesting,” was all Riddle had to say to that.

“Really?” Harry said in surprise.

“Well, no,” said Riddle, his mouth lifting in a subtle smirk. “It sounds rather pointless.”

Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated, yet unexpectedly amused. “Then why did you ask?”

Riddle tilted his head almost innocently (and wasn't it curious that Harry found that slightly disarming?). “Is it a crime to be inquisitive?”

“In this day and age of two kay seventeen?” Harry asked rhetorically, shaking his head. “Yes. Google is your friend when it comes to useless questions.”

Riddle made a ‘hm’ sound, seemingly not offended by Harry's sarcasm. Which was surprising for two reasons: one, Riddle always seemed like a high-strung bloke, and two, the tone of their conversation was so  _ casual. _ Almost as though this  _ wasn't  _ the first time they had ever acknowledged each other. 

“Uh, right,” said Harry, feeling suddenly awkward again. Then he gestured his hand at Riddle’s. “Could I maybe have that back?”

“Of course,” said Riddle, handing his phone back, as though he hadn't been holding it hostage.

Harry took it and quickly pocketed it, barely glancing at it. There was an odd moment where they both looked at each other. Harry was kind of fidgety as he stood, while Riddle, evidently at ease, leaned against the pillar of a stand.

Then, at the same time-

“I'll be leaving, now.” 

“So, do you tweet often?”

That last was Harry, eternally the thought blurter. He had just suddenly thought about his Dumbledore tweet and how Riddle had made it more popular, all  _ without following him. _

Although, he wasn't certain as to why that last point was important.

Riddle paused, looking as though he was about to make good on his words and leave; his legs already positioned to start walking away.

Harry wished he would. Get it over with, as it were.

Inside, Harry was asking himself  _ ‘what the actual fuck’.  _ Utter cringe was all he felt; his words were reminiscent of ‘do you come here often’, basically.

“Sorry?” Riddle asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Harry ruffled his hair awkwardly, debating with himself. To continue or…?

“Well, it's just, you retweet some stuff…” Harry trailed off, not sure where he was planning this conversation on going. Because actually, what was he even saying at this point?

A light of recognition seemed to appear in Riddle’s eyes. “You're referring to Twitter, I assume?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, I'm talking about you texting my mum.”

“What a crude insinuation to make.”

Harry sighed; once again- “It's sarcasm, you fool.” Surprisingly, a lack of bite colouring his words.

“I'm aware, thank you very much,” said Riddle a bit tersely, probably not used to being called a fool. “Might I ask what you intend with your nonsensical line of questioning?”

“Nonsensical-!” Harry gave up. It was the out he was looking for.  _ Just play the Gryffindor part. _ “You know what, nevermind.”

Riddle surveyed him for a moment, dark eyes searching. “It's strange.”

Harry huffed. “Yeah, I know what you meant by nonsensical. That's why I-”

“No,” Riddle waved him off. “What's strange is the manner in which you speak to me.”

Harry pulled a face. He knew it. Of  _ course,  _ how dare the plebeian speak so  _ familiarly  _ with the mighty patrician.

“Right,” said Harry, preparing to leave, feeling inexplicably disappointed.

“Oh,” said Riddle, sounding apologetic. “You've misunderstood me.”

Harry stopped and narrowed his eyes, refusing to fall for it. “No, I think I got it.”

“I don't think you have,” said Riddle, almost making Harry believe in his earnest act. “I only meant we haven't really spoken up until this point. Of course, I've seen you around the castle…”

Harry frowned, not really understanding. “So?”

A slight crease appeared in between Riddle’s eyebrows in turn, as if Harry was being difficult. “So, we've not spoken to each other before. Yet, our entire conversation has been,  _ well,  _ conversational.”

“Uh, yeah,” said Harry. “That's what a conversation is.”

Riddle smiled then. His canines were too sharp for it to be perfect but the expression brightened his face, so much so Harry could only blink.

“Once again: I'm aware, Potter. Are you always this obtuse?”

For a moment, Harry wasn't even aware he'd been insulted by Riddle; he hadn't detected any acid in the words. This was a very weird brand of charming, Harry thought wildly to himself.

“No,” Harry asserted instead. Then, rolling his eyes at himself, “I mean, I'm not obtuse. I'm just not as skilled in the art of Slytherin speak as you are, alright?” And oh, how it rankled admitting to a weakness in front of  _ Riddle. What was he doing.  _ “Would you get to the point?”

“Well,” Riddle started, no longer smiling but with only a tiny pinch of a frown. “I suppose I've always got the impression that there was an animosity between us. Or rather,” he seemed to reconsider, narrowing his eyes. “You seem to hold an unwarranted animosity towards me.”

“Unwarranted?” Harry spluttered, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Yes, that's the word I chose,” said Riddle. 

“You-you’re Riddle!” was all Harry could get out.

Riddle sighed, beginning to look annoyed now, leaning more heavily on the wooden stand. “ _ Yes _ , Potter. How many times must I confirm:  _ I'm aware. _ ”

“Ok, but so what. You're Riddle - I've seen the way everyone, especially Slytherins, fawn over you. Like you're some great royal Prince,” Harry stopped to catch his breath, which had suddenly become erratic. “Well, my friends and I aren't that gullible, we  _ know- _ ”

“Tell me, Potter,” Riddle interrupted him smoothly. He gazed at Harry for a while before continuing. “What is it that you think you  _ know  _ about me?”

“I-” Harry stopped. And what a very good question. He had put an inflection  _ know _ , which made Harry think: what  _ did  _ he know about Riddle?

Riddle was an arse. He had everyone fooled into thinking he was some golden boy who could do no wrong. But they didn't always see the little things that added up to give a clear picture of who Riddle actually was.

Harry didn't know when he had begun to notice. But notice he had: the satisfied gleam in Riddle’s eye when his assigned Gryffindor partner failed at a potion or the shadow of a smirk that appeared when someone got injured by him in Defence class before it was masterfully hidden by false concern.

Most importantly, Harry had noticed his smug look at the announcement of Myrtle’s disappearance.

Not to mention that his diary was found (by Harry) in the exact place she had gone missing; granted, the thing had turned out to be blank, but it wasn't a coincidence. Harry just  _ knew  _ it.

He couldn't voice it out loud, though. Least of all to Riddle, himself. He had no justification for having noticed these things nor for not having turned his ‘evidence’ in.

And so the only thing he  _ could  _ say was, “I just don't like you.”

It felt like a defeat, having to give such a subpar explanation - to not be able to tell Riddle exactly what he thought of him.

Even still, he stuck to his words, adding a defiant lift of the chin while maintaining narrow-eyed contact with Riddle’s dark blue eyes.

"I see,” said Riddle, with a slight tilt to his lips, seemingly unconcerned by the declaration. Harry wanted to wipe that look off his face.

One thing which bothered Harry, though: “What, that's it?”

He had no answer if Riddle were to ask, but he simply couldn't help himself.

Riddle simply looked at him impassively, standing up straight. “While your dislike for me is unfortunate, I don't find much interest in it. I'm not sure what you expected, but I don't have a compulsive need to be universally adored.”

Harry felt his eyebrows lift in a way which showed how drastically he disbelieved the words Riddle was saying. While Riddle’s whole demeanor appeared nonchalant, he had a gleam in his eye which suggested he knew exactly what was going through Harry's head.

The velvety tone of Riddle whispered in his mind:  _ I'm aware.  _ Ugh.

Riddle positioned to leave once again, throwing words over his shoulder. “Just one more question before I go: if you hate me so much, why are you still here?”

Harry wanted to retort, ‘ _ You initiated the conversation, you bastard.’  _ But realised that didn't actually answer Riddle’s question.

It didn't matter though; Riddle had already started walking away.

Unable to let that be the way it ended, Harry shouted after his quickly retreating back. “You run like a weirdo!”

Riddle didn't look back nor did he slow down. His words carried over to Harry, barely lifting his voice.

“And you're not as good at Quidditch as you think.”

Harry fumed, unable to respond in the time that Riddle fully disappeared.

It was a  _ lie _ . Harry was  _ the best _ at Quidditch in the entire school; that wasn't even arrogance on his part, it was utter fact.

What did Riddle know about Quidditch? That's right, he knew nothing. Probably couldn't even tell the difference between the handle and the bristles of a broom.

But even as Harry acknowledged this, Riddle’s darkly knowing tone of voice almost made his words sound like the truth.

Harry didn't know why it bothered him so much but just for that fact he would be sure never to catch his breath at the sight of him again.

Unless it was to prepare his throat for an onslaught of insults. Riddle was  _ the worst. _

* * *

 

Harry sat at his desk, finally getting around to his assignments. The sky was dark outside of the window as dinner had just ended an hour ago. He was feeling lazy, but he knew if he gave into the feeling he would talk himself out of doing anything.

With a great amount of reluctance, Harry placed his rucksack on the surface before him and started taking out his books. He took out both his textbook and one from the library in one move. A smaller book fell out from between them and Harry picked it up with a frown.

It was a slim book, not particularly fancy but sturdily bound in soft black leather. Across the top right corner, in elegant silver letters were the initials: T.M.R.

Riddle’s diary.

Harry scowled at the sight of it and immediately wanted to set it alight. He pushed his Gryffindor impulse down, unwilling to make it that easy for Riddle.

Originally, when Harry had first stumbled across the book, he hadn't known what the letters had stood for. And ok, maybe it hadn't been an accident finding it but after the effort he had gone through to get it, he hadn't been about to leave it alone. Nor had he been content in not knowing who it belonged to.

It wasn't hard to piece together, though. Harry had, of course, looked to the Slytherins first. And, after noticing Riddle, it sort of fell into place. It had been how Harry had found Riddle’s twitter to begin with.

It had been a massive disappointment opening the diary the first time only to find it empty. Now, he leafed through it and wondered once again as to its importance.

It didn't make sense for it to have nothing in it. Then again, maybe it did. Perhaps Riddle had placed safeguards on it; it was meant to hold personal information, after all.

Harry wondered…

He quickly rummaged through his rucksack and, after withdrawing a quill and inkpot, he hastily threw the bag onto the floor.

He dipped the quill in the ink and with it poised above the first wordless page of the diary, he hesitated for a moment. During his moment of indecision, a drop of black ink plopped onto the page before almost immediately disappearing.

Harry stared at the page dumbly, unsure as to what exactly happened. He lifted up the page to take a look at it from the other side; nothing. Just the same slightly yellowed parchment page as before.

With a puzzled frown, he dipped his quill afresh and wrote:  _ Harry woz here. _

Barely a second passed and those words sank into the page, nowhere to be seen. Then, before Harry could blink, fresh words in an elegant writing started to appear.

Harry waited with baited breath, only to sag in disappointment at what it read.

_ Incorrect password. If you are Tom Marvolo Riddle, follow protocol. If not, do not waste time trying again. _

Harry's eyes widened when the words actually registered. In his panic, he threw himself back into his desk chair and instinctively pulled up a shield charm.

During that time, more words had scrawled across the page:  _ Verify in 7 seconds. _

As Harry watched the number seven started counting down.

“Oh shit!”

Harry backed away from the desk completely, throwing the chair aside in his haste. He stood staring at the book, utterly panicking but not sure what to do about it.

The number reached zero and the world paused then the book flashed a bright white light, blinding Harry. He stumbled back and his foot caught in his previously discarded bag, sending him sprawling.

Harry fell back hard, hitting his head painfully on the side of his bed. He swore loudly and rather rudely, laying there for a moment. He then started sitting up sluggishly while touching the tender part of the scalp. His eyesight was still a bit blurry, he noticed with alarm, before realising belatedly that his glasses weren't on his face.

He groped around for them for a bit and breathed a sigh of relief at finding them not too far away. Looking for his glasses was always a bitch when he couldn't see.

With his eyesight restored, Harry took a deep breath and warily looked back to the desk. The diary was gone.  

“Fucking hell.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly... idk what i think of this chapter. i had to rewrite several parts so many times that by the end of it i could barely look at it anymore. ugh. 
> 
> anyway, let me know if it's as bad as im thinking it is, yeah? :'(
> 
> also, like i said in the previous chapter, updates may be less frequent from now on. i don't know exactly how long breaks between them will be but it could honestly range from a few weeks to a few months. so sorry about that

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think :))


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